


Rain, Hats and Horses

by entanglednow



Category: Good Omens
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-26
Updated: 2009-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 13:03:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So," Crowley starts. Because that's a socially appropriate way to start a conversation. "About the hat."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain, Hats and Horses

Aziraphale is wearing a three cornered hat when Crowley finds him in an unmarked town square. They seem to do that a lot, drift towards each other without really thinking about it or intending to. Currently he's trying of think something appropriate to say about the hat. It's definitely a new fashion that calls for some sort of carefully well thought out and scathing opinion.

He's getting there.

Rain trails off of the corners in a dejected sort of way, though the hat never seems to _stay_ wet. Crowley disapproves of the rain, it's terribly monotonous. It reminds him of hell. He's been letting himself get wet for half an hour without really noticing, it's like nails being gently, but repeatedly, pounded into the brain, it's sort of hypnotising.

"So," Crowley starts. Because that's a socially appropriate way to start a conversation. "About the hat."

Aziraphale looks at him, it's a patient look, though there's an edge of long-sufferance to it. Like he's aware he's about to be mocked and is determined to rise above it.

Crowley can practically see him rising above it already.

Something tugs on his coat, something which turns out to be an insufferably adorable blonde child with his hand held out.

Aziraphale is already halfway into his coin purse when Crowley smacks the urchin round the back of the head and sends him off wailing.

There's a sigh, but Aziraphale doesn't scold him for it. Crowley thinks Aziraphale secretly disapproves of the dirtiness of urchins.

"This place is full of ghosts you know," Crowley points out. Though he's fairly sure the angel can't have missed that, what with the way their faces drift around in the evening fog. "It's like a horror story waiting to happen. Wouldn't have thought it was your sort of place at all."

Crowley peers into the crowd, like he can single out whatever limp-faced do-gooder Aziraphale was leading to the paths of righteousness today. He can't make out anyone in particular they're all pretty much grubby and suspect. They're grubby and suspect no matter how deep he looks.

The rain continues to fall in a careless but enthusiastic sort of way.

"I wish I had a horse filled up with hellfire to ride home," Crowley says miserably.

"Not the sort of thing people fail to notice though," Aziraphale adds. "As they're going about their business this evening seeing you riding a giant flaming horse will, I suspect, only drive them to seek comfort from a higher power."

Crowley frowns.

"You're trying to lure me into it now aren't you?"

"I was merely making an observation."

"You're the only person I know that can suck all the fun out of riding a giant horse filled with hellfire," he complains. Though making sure people don't notice you riding a flaming horse, while not getting wet at the same time-

That really does just make it not worth the bother.

"Not really all that useful in the rain either though anyway, eh?" he offers. Because the hellfire inside one wasn't very strong, it tended to go out and leave you with a hollow, and not particularly useful, horse-shaped thing. Or, sometimes more awkwardly, a jumbled piled of embarrassed horse bones.

"Not really no," Aziraphale agreed.

Crowley has to walk home, in the rain, and he's wet now and it seems a waste of energy to make himself dry when he's liable to forget in the shrill monotony of it, and without a horse filled with hellfire to even make him feel better.

But then, without him saying a single world, or even so much as looking piqued, Aziraphale very carefully slides the hat off of his own head and over Crowley’s dark hair.

There really should be something appropriate to say about that too. But Crowley's head is significantly warmer and less wet than it was before.

"Thanks angel."

  


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Rain, Hats and Horses by entanglednow [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109036) by [illutu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/illutu/pseuds/illutu), [Rhea314 (Rhea)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Rhea314)




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